


The Sound Of Silence

by HoneyYouShouldSeeMeInACrown



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, I'm Sorry, M/M, many feels, this is not a happy story, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyYouShouldSeeMeInACrown/pseuds/HoneyYouShouldSeeMeInACrown
Summary: After a spate of disappearances Geralt is hired by a group of villagers to bring an end to the mystery plaguing the area
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 89





	The Sound Of Silence

Geralt scrunched his nose up against the acrid smell of death lurking just ahead, one hand moving down to smooth over Roach's neck as the mare reared up slightly. It seemed like the severity of the situation had been undeplayed by the villagers, bastards were eager enough to send him to a death trap yet couldn't be fucked to give him all the details.

His golden eyes flickered up towards the small village just up the ridge. From his questioning of the town it seemed that the place had once been an important stop off for traders on the route towards Velen yet for the last six months it had been avoided after a spate of disappearances occurred. It seemed whomever made their way through was never seen again. That wasn't what troubled the Witcher most, his main curiosity lay with what had happened to the townsfolk whom had once inhabited the village. Something had left the place an utter ghost town, and in his previous experience it was never something good.

He pulled on the reigns sharply trying to urge the mare forwards only for her to rear up more sharply. “Easy Roach!” he cursed, casting Aard to bring her back into settle. For a few moments she eased and yet the closer and closer they drew to the boundary of the town the more aggravated the mare became. With a frustrated sigh Geralt pushed his way off the horse and secured her to a nearby tree realising it would be swifter to take the rest of the way by foot.

He moved steadily over the dirt road leading up into the town dropping his gaze to focus on the most recent wagon tracks pressed into the dirt, a Redanian merchant whom had gone missing most recently. “Hmmm” The Witcher mused as he followed the tracks through to the main square of the town finding the wagon in question ransacked and broken. He reached out to move several of the forgotten furs littering the wagon frowning as he found a small medallion dropped to the bottom. Judging by the frayed fabric it lay still attached to it had been pulled off in a struggle. His eyes ran over the symbol embossed on the front. The symbol of Nilfgaard.

Shoving the item into his pocket he turned and made his way towards the larger of the buildings letting his gaze trail around the detritus that littered the scene. It was as he suspected, signs of a fight lay strewn across the area, a battle had taken hold but what chance did small town folk have against the might of Nilfgaard's cruelty. He wondered how many villages had been lost to their power all to gain another foothold for their vile campaign. If word was to be believed their next goal would be to take Cintra. Even with his anger at destiny the Witcher knew he needed to ride soon for the city, his surprise child was in threat. No matter how many quests he took to avoid destiny he couldn't deny it much longer, this ruined village was only further proof of that.

Shaking his head and huffing the Witcher pushed open the door to what appeared to be the inn and tavern tensing a little as the door creaked loudly from much misuse. What hit first was the overpowering stench of death, many had lost their lives here that he was sure of. The light streaming into the tavern was waning with the sunset but Geralt's eyes could pick up the signs of the chaos that had haunted the last night of its occupants. It was clear that many had had little chance to even rise from their chairs judging by the way the tankards lay strewn across the floor, various bottles laying smashed across the wood.

He moved cautiously through the analysing what he could from the wreck left in Nilfgaard's wake when his eyes found sight of a portly figure huddled up in the corner looking out of place against the abandoned town. Unlike the stripped area around him this man seemed to still be in possession of valuables, his bag lay just to one side, tipped over enough that things had strewn across the floor. Juding by the contents it looked as the man had been trying to pilfer whatever he could from the village. Whatever had killed the poor bastard had taken him by shock, a look of fear lay etched into the man's ghostly pale face.

Geralt was cautious as he moved close to the body, one hand reaching out to shift the layers of the fabric searching for a sign of what had killed the thief. Nilfgaard was long gone, and even after their departure something was still picking off those travelling through. With a sinking sensation in his gut he rose to his feet putting together all of the pieces of the puzzle. Only one creature could be bourne from such a violent death and live on to such malevolent crimes. A wraith.

He shot to his feet knowing his time was limited, with the sun nearly down below the sight of the mountains the wraith would soon rise and he was ill prepared to do so. He drew two potions from the pocket of his breeches, the first the spectre oil which he rubbed liberally over the silver blade. The second a cat eye potion which he swallowed swiftly. Immediately everything in the darkening room became clearer. He moved back through the empty tables this time searching with more urgency. From the lack of decaying bodies he could assume that the Nilgaardian attackers had burned the corpses from their attack, yet one must have been missed for the Wraith to rise. He needed to find whatever item was keeping the poor soul tied to the earth.

Finding nothing by way of a clue in the tavern he made his way upstairs to the few rooms which made up the guest quarters. In the first two he found nothing more than a few items of discarded clothing and bottles. The third seemed carefully stripped bare as if the occupant was more alert to the dangers that lay incoming. Geralt's eyes searched over the wooden floor noting the slight uneven way two of the board sat together. Clever, whomever held this room was certainly smart enough to hide whatever had been valuable out of sight. Pulling a dagger free from his waistband the Witcher shoved the blade underneath the boards pushing them out of sight one by one. The sight that lay below sucked every breath from his lungs, his heart falling utterly still for a fragment of a second. No! No it couldn't be!

The Witcher's hands trembled violently as he reached down and pulled the pristine case from where it lay wishing and begging that what he saw was wrong and yet as his fingertips opened the clasp he could deny it no longer. He knew the lute well, he had been there the day it was bequeathed to its new owner. The bard had been so delighted when he had been given the damn thing by Filavandrel. And despite his own proclamations that he couldn't bear the bard's singing the Witcher often found himself most at peace to hear Jaskier's soft tones. Or he had been until that bastard day on the mountain when Geralt had sent everything to hell.

The Witcher fell back against the nearby wall grasping the lute tightly in his hands, fingertips brushing over the still and silent strings. He'd regretted the words he'd spoken every day since but he'd been too damn stubborn to search out the bard and apologise, doing so would mean confronting feelings he had never allowed himself to do. It seemed he would now never have a chance to do so. His bard, his FRIEND was dead and cursed to a life hovering in the afterlife. He drew a shaking hand over his face clearing the tears that he hadn't consented to fall feeling a hollowness settle in his chest.

He sensed the air become charged around him, a greenish light beginning to fill the room as the Wrath came into view and yet for the moment Geralt couldn't raise the blade from where it lay forgotten on the floor. Instead his eyes raised to the horrific rotting face that shone with the ethereal light spilling from the spectre. “Jaskier....” he whispered, the word so utterly broken that the Witcher's voice hitched so terribly. Nilfgaard might have taken the Bard's life but Geralt felt more than responsible for the man being here in the first place.

Foolishly he had let his guard down, enough so that when the creature struck he had only just enough time to raise his hand to cast Quen. The force of the attack still sent him crashing through the rotting wall behind him, lute and swords landing just within reach. The attack drove the Witcher to his feet, steel sword drawn but held in deference rather than offence as the Wraith floated down towards him. “Jaskier please. Hear me, I'm sorry.....fuck I'm so sorry” he cursed as the Wraith struck out again. In his foolish pleas for forgiveness it caught his upper leg drawing blood.

The Witcher cursed and took several steps back raising his sword just in time to meet the next attack. It felt wrong, he felt sick to his stomach as he defended blow after blow his mind still unable to comprehend that his truest friend was lost to the world. And despite the sickness that flooded him at the thought of Jaskier being gone for good he knew he had to act, that he had to allow the bard a chance to pass on to whatever life held next. He couldn't allow for him to be stuck in this half life tortured and cruel.

He stubbornly ignored the way his vision blurred as he raised his hand in the symbol of Yrden watching as the Wraith was held for a moment in place. Diving across the ground he knelt before the treasured lute watching with heartbreak as Igni set the instrument aflame. He heard the wail from the creature behind the sound sending agony through the Witcher. But he forced himself to rise, forced himself to raise the silver blade. The sensation of the blade pushing into the Wraith's heart was one he would remember for the rest of his life. He was sure it would haunt his every night.

Before his eyes the greenish glow grew brighter and brighter, bright enough that the Witcher had to avert his eyes. The clang of the sword hitting the ground sounded mere moments later. Almost instantly he felt a strange sensation brush against his skin drawing the Witcher to look up. The sight of Jaskier's ghostly facade floated before him, one of the bard's hands gently pressed against the Witcher's cheek. Even if he couldn't quite feel it Geralt raised his hand over where it would lie. “Jaskier...” he croaked brokenly.

The ghost smiled softly, a peace shining in those cornflower blue eyes that Geralt had never admitted to adore. “Geralt.” The ghost said softly. “I haven't long. I can feel myself being pulled from this world” The bard chimed in a soft melodic tone. “I forgive you my friend.”

The sound pulled from the Witcher was one he had heard a number of times over his many years. It was the sound of heartbreak he heard when he returned from a hunt to tell those whom had hired him that it had been too late to save their loved ones. It was the sound of loss, a sound Geralt was sure he wasn't capable. Never before had he wished for himself to be as emotionless as the rumours perpetrated. Perhaps it would save him from this agony.

“Geralt....please, listen to me. I made it out to the woods before they found me...You need to burn the body. I wont be that again. Promise me that. Promise me?”

The Witcher tensed his jaw and nodded somehow finding the strength to find the way to his feet. He had more left to do, if this was all he could do for his friend he would be sure to complete the task. He wouldn't let him down again. “I'll make sure. I promise”

“Thank you my love” The ghostly figure whispered. A strong breeze picked up around the village, spiralling around the area where Jaskier stood. In mere seconds he was gone from sight.

The Witcher stood stock still, the words hanging heavily in the air. “I'm sorry Jask...I love you” he whispered to the silence that lingered in the bard's absence. A silence that would follow him always.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys i'm so sorry. This is the first thing i've written in years but I couldn't get the plot bunny out of my head! I promise i'll try and get some fluffy/smutty goodness out into the world after this!


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